


Light the way Home

by Renabe



Series: Journey Home - a Clovember Series [2]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Heartwarming, Hopeful, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reunion Fic, Tears and feels, but only briefly, draws on potentially painful imagery from that episode, post staff revival, references v7ch12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27716107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renabe/pseuds/Renabe
Summary: Clovember Day 25 - Home"Please, Qrow." He doesn't know how to ask for what he needs. What he wants. If he's even allowed to want after everything. But he has to say something, anything, to alleviate this tension from the recoil he inadvertently caused."I miss your eyes," he admits softly.It’s silly, really, given their circumstances. But it’s true. He misses that soft shade of red, so bright and caring. Much kinder than other variants of the colour. Warm. Welcoming.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: Journey Home - a Clovember Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026349
Comments: 14
Kudos: 53





	Light the way Home

**Author's Note:**

> Posting both fic and art today as well, editing this to include art link:
> 
> https://renabe4life.tumblr.com/post/635825828080599040/clovember-day-25-home-i-never-would-have-guessed
> 
> Set before yesterday's Journey piece. After the staff is used but before they have to join the battle anew, let's say they get a few minutes to just breathe.
> 
> Yes, another reunion fic. Yes, my third one. Mind your business. /j
> 
> This one means a lot to me, I mean all my fics do, but it's hard to explain what's different here. Anyway, thank you and I hope you enjoy.

"Q...Qrow?" His voice is broken, cracks at just the man's name as arms wrap tightly about him. His head swirls with questions, his own arms hesitantly returning the gesture to keep his balance. So many questions. What happened. How is he here. Why does it look like Atlas is slowly falling. Where is-

_No._

No, there's something much more important than any of that.

"Qrow, I-" he stops as a sob catches in his throat, as tears break free from eyes he hadn't noticed filling with water. He tries again. "I'm so sorry." He wants to say he's sorry for fighting him, for not giving them a chance to work together. He wants to say… he's sorry for not trusting him. His partner. His friend. His…

"I know, Clover."

He barely hears the faint whisper in return, but he certainly feels the shaky breath that follows. His hands squeeze a little tighter.

"I know," Qrow chokes out, closing his eyes, willing away his own treacherous tears. "I _know_ , and I'm sorry too." For so much, too much to explain right now. It could wait. Right now he wants nothing more than to hold onto something he thought he'd lost forever. To some _one_ he thought he'd lost forever. He's still not sure he believes it, even as the warmth of Clover's body chases away the cold, even as the pulse skittering against his senses drowns out everything else. He fears it could be snatched away at any moment, nothing but a phantom haunting him in the night.

Clover asks, "This, this is real, right?" He feels foolish, exposed and raw.

It can't be real. Agonising pain stirs in his memory, ghosts deep in his chest.

It must be real. Fingers clutch at a jacket beneath a tattered cape, warmth bleeds against his cheek pressed into Qrow's neck.

Qrow would laugh at the question that voices his very thoughts, if it didn't hurt so much. If he weren't absolutely terrified of the possibility that this is all in his head. Instead, he draws a shuddering breath. "I sure hope so." He wishes he could scream how it better be real, how after everything he's been through, he damn well needs it to be. Even if he doesn't deserve it.

The tone in that gravelly voice stirs something in Clover, sounding so fractured, so helpless. Far too similar to a desperate scream that tore through the last waking memory he has from… well, before now. He won't think on it, he can't. But how to silence the echoes of that fear.

He loosens his hold, but Qrow grips him tighter. So tight it hurts.

"Qrow," Clover protests weakly. He needs to see him.

Fingers retract, swiftly retreat as he realises how hard they dig into shoulder blades. Guiltily slide down to hang loosely about a waist, shaking where they rest. Yet his face only burrows deeper against warm skin. Too ashamed to be seen. Too desperate to surround himself with that warmth.

A gloved hand reaches for dark locks, resting gently against the tangled mess.

"Please, Qrow." He doesn't know how to ask for what he needs. What he wants. If he's even allowed to want after everything. But he has to say something, anything, to alleviate this tension from the recoil he inadvertently caused. 

"I miss your eyes," he admits softly.

It’s silly, really, given their circumstances. But it’s true. He misses that soft shade of red, so bright and caring. Much kinder than other variants of the colour. Warm. Welcoming.

Qrow stills, tremors halting as the words reach him. He draws back, confused.

What a thing to say.

And yet, as he meets pools deep as the sea, so lost and searching until they find him, he understands. He understands too well, and any hope or fear he may have had of holding back is smashed to the ground. Shattered as his heart, and the realisation strikes with startling clarity. And the tears he so fought don't matter anymore. He lets them fall at last because...

These eyes.

Steady hands slip from Clover's waist to reach up. They cup his face gingerly, not out of hesitation, for that has quickly abandoned him. No, his hands hold gently, reverently, as they cradle something precious. So very precious.

_Home._

These eyes… are home. Broken, imperfect, but finally free. Open and honest, no longer hiding their own desires for the sake of another.

Certain his own eyes reflect the same rawness, he brushes away tears, not caring that more fall to take their place. Letting his own lay where they will.

Clover places his free hand over Qrow's, delicately. Too delicately, as though the lightest pressure will send everything falling down, like a tower made of paper cards.

How foolish. Does he not know that tower was a stone wall, already cracked, crumbling. Lain before him in ruin. To hide the burning flame within no more.

Something shifts in molten red orbs, ignites, and Clover presses both hands firmly over Qrow's. Clinging not desperately, but wantingly. He wants this, and he's done with reservations, with what ifs, with fear. 

He leans forward, resting his forehead against dampened bangs frozen in the chill air. And his mind settles, a sigh of relief spilling from lips, tingling as it brushes Qrow's skin. The huntsman shivers, not from the cold.

An apology sits on Clover's tongue once more before he stifles it, replaces it with something much more fitting.

"Thank you," he breathes softly, and his voice is steady now. Quiet, but it carries strong. "For lighting my way home."

Qrow blinks, startled, and yet he sees it.

Home. Not this frozen wasteland. Not the once bright city that will surely fall from the sky. Nor the duty within it.

For as sure as he's found home in seafoam beacons, Clover has found the same in his own burning eyes. In him.

The laugh that tears free from Qrow is but a huff of air, sharp and short. Astounded. His thoughts caught between feeling like an absolute fool for not knowing sooner and wondering if maybe he had known all along.

And the tears fall faster, but he cannot bring himself to care as he gives one last glance at teal before letting crimson shut and pressing lips to Clover's. Deliberate and sure. More sure than he's ever been about anything in his life.

Clover balks, if only for a moment, not expecting this reaction. Not anticipating Qrow's wants to match his own in quite the same way. His eyes slip closed as hands squeeze ring adorned fingers tighter to himself, and he leans into the touch.

The kiss is salty from sweat and tears, coppery from split lips that bleed in the cold, dry air. But it is comforting. Warming as lips move against one another and share breath, further proof of life within lungs that they drink freely from each other.

No more holding back. No more running away.

They know when this moment ends there will still be hardship. There will still be pain and many wounds that need time to heal. There will still be work to do, not just for the world but for themselves and each other.

But they'll work it out. Together.

Because they know when they are together, they are home.


End file.
